


Weeds

by sippycupstealer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Abused Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Crazy, Creature Dean, Creature Fic, Dead Languages, Dead Mary Winchester, Deaf Sam Winchester, Dean Has Powers, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Reunite, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil, Good, Hatred, Hidden - Freeform, Hurt Dean Winchester, Innocent Sam, John has a secret, John is a Bit Not Good, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Love, M/M, Madness, Memories, Monsters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Sam, Sad, Sam Has a Dog, Scared Dean, Secrets, Sibling Incest, To Be Edited, Violence, Weecest, Weird, Weird Plot Shit, Wincest - Freeform, Witches, creature - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sippycupstealer/pseuds/sippycupstealer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A weed is but an unloved flower." </p><p>    - Ella Wheeler Wilcox</p><p> </p><p>Sam and his widowed father, John Winchester, live religiously in Lawrence, Kansas.</p><p>However, John has been harboring a secret from his son everyday since he was little.</p><p>As he is home alone, doing his chores, Sam makes a very grueling discovery in his attic that will make him question his family and religion forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Wincest/Weecest fanfic! So excited to start writing again after having some serious writer's block c:  
> I'll set this to ten chapters first, but if it carries on further, I'll replace the number.
> 
> This "chapter" is the prologue. Pretty short.

The large bathtub was permeated to the rim with thick, black water that threatened to trickle over. It sat in over in a dull, moldy corner of the attic, adorned with wispy cobwebs that threaded intricately throughout the wooden beams above. The tub looked like it has been sitting there for ages; no one dared to look back there.

The amber rays of the sun then faded away softly - dusk had fallen. The darkness of the night finally clawed its away from the shadows, skulking menacingly across the room.

The tub shifted violently, spilling the wicked substance over on the floor, which no doubt escaped quickly into the cracks of the wooden boards.

A hand rose - long, pale, _humane_ fingers blindly groped at the air. But in only a moment, the hand slumped back into the tub. 

All became still; it would be a while before _it_ moved.

But it wouldn't be long.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back to this story again! I've changed the plot of it (even though you can't really tell lol), so it'll be more enjoyable to read for you and to write for me!! My crap got deleted and I was ULTIMATELY pissed, etc, etc. Thanks so much for the hits so far... couldn't believe I was actually mentioned on tumblr (it probably isn't that special, but it is to me!)! Enjoy this guys xx 
> 
> P.S.: Note that Sam is around 17 years old, and he looks basically like the younger Jared Padalecki (a little before Supernatural).

Summer nights in Kansas were so hot, they were practically unbearable. 

Sam lay wide awake in his bed, succumbed in the quiet darkness of his room, beads of sweat collecting across his skin. He was nearly naked, all bedclothes shed from his body and on the floor in a heap, along with the sheets that had long ago been ripped away. The air conditioner had been broken for at least a week, and it was only a matter of time before Sam would possibly die from a heat stroke, or, perhaps, drowning in his own sweat. However, he never complained about it once, because it would only result in yet another argument with John - his father - and he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. 

Sam let out a grunt and flipped over his pillow, hoping to find some sort of cool pleasure from it - but he felt no difference. Frustrated, he sat up quickly, and situated himself so that his back rest against the headboard. His eyes had already become acquainted with the dark - he could easily make out the small dresser across from his bed, along with the makeshift bookcase of novels and poems bolted into the wall. He’d read every single book on that shelf, most of them during his childhood, but he couldn’t bear the thought of giving any of them away. He preferred to be sentimental.

He could also make out the chipping of paint on the walls. The color had remained the same baby blue since it had become his nursery years ago.

The hearing aids lay on the nightstand next to his bed, resting atop his Bible. He reached for them, and turned them on before putting them in his ears. Although not completely deaf, he was still in need of them - he missed most normal sounds. He could finally listen to the symphony of the crickets as they chirped proudly, along with the low croaking of bullfrogs outside his open window. Even though Sam was a fond member of silence, it had become boring to him.

A lovely rush of cool air brushed over Sam’s damp skin, and he thanked the heavens for it.

It had to be around four A.M. - Sam always managed to keep up with time without having to look at it. He tried closing his eyes for just a little while longer before he would have to make breakfast for himself and John, but the smothering, intenseness of the nightly heat never allowed it. He then swung his long legs over the bed and stood up, feet resting so softly the floorboards couldn’t creak. He reluctantly dressed back in his pajamas and slipped out of the bedroom door.

Sam’s father wasn’t passed out in the recliner in the living room from reading scripture, so he must’ve gone up to bed after Sam attempted to fall asleep. However, Bear, Sam’s beloved Australian Sheppard, lay on her belly, stretched out like a long rug across the floor, panting quietly from the heat. Her ears perked up once Sam began to cross over the room, and she stretched her legs before following him into the kitchen. 

“Hey, girl,” he whispered, turning around to scratch behind her ears. As he kneeled to her level, she lapped at his cheek affectionately. “I guess you’re hungry?”

Bear gave a little huff and padded toward the pantry, where her food and bowls were placed. That was a yes. 

After Sam made her food, she munched and drank happily in the corner. Sam could see it nearing daylight, so he proceeded to make breakfast for his father and himself. He started the coffee maker up, putting in a new filter and setting out a single mug; he’d make orange juice for himself. He slayed over the stove, frying several pieces of bacon and scrambled eggs. He rummaged the cabinets for the pancake mix, and made a large stack of pancakes in a different skillet.

Bear yipped quietly as he placed the breakfast on the table, and Sam had to shush her by tapping her nose abruptly with two fingers. She whined a little in protest before eventually quieting.

“Can’t give you any. And you just ate, you greedy girl,” Sam laughed quietly, nudging her softly with his toe. 

Sam became erect once he heard the creak of the stairs, followed by the familiar clunk of his father’s work boots. He poured the black coffee into the mug, and placed it on the table, along with two plates and silverware.

“Morning, Sam,” John’s gruff voice rang in the kitchen.

“Morning, dad,” Sam replied with a fleeting smile. He moved to his side of the table as John sauntered over and sat down in one of the rickety chairs. He eyed his only son with sleep deprived eyes as he held out a hand across the table. Sam sat, took it delicately in his own, and quietly murmured the blessing.

Afterwards, John had busily helped himself to food. Sam allowed himself to one pancake, a few spoonfuls of eggs, and two pieces of bacon. He sipped his orange juice and watched his father tentatively, waiting for him to speak.

“I want you to do a favor for me around here while I’m away at work. I want the attic cleaned up by the time I get back home.”

“The entire attic, Dad? Can I at least get any help? I mean -- ”

“It’s a smaller job than you think, Sam. And I expect it to be done.” 

Sam could feel Bear’s fluffy head rest in his lap from under the table. He knew better than to argue further - he didn’t want punishment. “Y-yes, sir.”

“I’m going to call in your Uncle Bobby so he can come and fix that air conditioner. He’ll come around in the afternoon, so make sure you listen out for him.”

“Yes sir, I will.”

John had finished eating a few minutes later, downing his mug of coffee before placing it in the middle of his empty plate. Sam stood immediately and took away the dishes, dropping them in the soapy water of the sink. He traveled over to the refrigerator and grabbed a brown paper bag, which contained the lunch he’d prepared for John the previous night. He handed it to him gingerly. 

“I’ll run any errands if need be,” Sam added.

“You’re God’s gift to me, Samuel - always obedient, always taking care of us.” John spoke with a smile of approval. He moved from his chair and gave his only son a half-hearted hug in which Sam was nothing if not shocked. His father hadn’t hugged him in a while.

“I better go,” John released Sam, patting his strong shoulder. “Remember what I’ve told you to do. And don’t forget to pray at noon.”

“I will, Dad,” said Sam in a strained voice, as he was recovering from the unexpected moment between him and his father. 

John left the house without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to thank for the people who have commented and left kudos on this work. I sincerely appreciate it! I've been caught up in my own crap lately, and now I've finally found a time to update. 
> 
> Also…
> 
> SEASON 12 of Supernatural is HERE and the first episode was AMAZING, OKAY?! Comment below how you feel about it!
> 
> What do you think happens next in this story? Comment below about that. c:
> 
> I love you all very much. xx

Once Sam finished his food in silence, he busied himself with the dishes. He paused with his large hands in the soapy water, gazing through the old-fashioned draperies amongst the window -  the sun beamed golden rays as it peaked over the horizon.

Sam put the clean dishes in their proper places. He caught attention to Bear, who had been rubbing her head needily on Sam’s outer thigh. “You want out, girl?” he asked her softly, threading long, pruned fingers through her fur. Sam led her out into the backyard, and he made a reminder to let her back in to eat after a while.

The living room had warmed up, even with the thick curtains drawn shut. He traveled up the stairs and into his small bathroom.

Sam hadn’t bothered to bathe - however, he did take the time to scrub the breakfast from his teeth and clean the sweat from his face. He guided a wet, cool hand through his oily scalp. The brunette locks of his hair had grown until they fell into his eyes, and it wouldn’t be long at all before his father demanded that he have a haircut.

Sam ended up in the hallway again. A photo from his baptism was the first thing he’d seen - he had to be nothing if not a few months old the time it was taken. He was a tiny thing, skin flushed against his dressing in white. His mother smiled lovingly down at him as she held him in the dainty crook of her arm. She was truly breathtaking - Mary - blessed with lovely blond curls that unfurled delicately over her shoulders; a gorgeous, flawless complexion, and Sam had never seen a more lovely set of azure blue eyes on anyone else in his life. Her beautiful frame was adorned in a flowing white dress, making her resemble some kind of angel.

Sam pressed a hand to his heart - it felt heavy.

The next photo was after the wedding - Sam, of course, hadn’t been born yet. Sam could hardly even recognize his own father; he looked so much younger - happier, even - his shoulders relaxed, mouth and eyes smiling handsomely. His arms were strong, but they were wrapped delicately around Mary, his cherub, newly-wedded wife.

Sam asked about her -  or at least tried - he couldn't so much as murmur his mother's name under his breath without his widowed father scolding him and banishing him to his room, like a little child. He didn’t understand at all - if John loved the woman so much, why keep her a secret?

Sam shook the troubling thoughts away and wandered back into his bedroom. He combed through the dresser (carefully though, because he’d spent forever trying to organize the entire thing) to find something to wear; a comfortable pair of shorts, along with an old shirt that fit him just a bit too big on his skinny body. He had been pulling on his tattered trainers onto his large feet when the faint ring of the telephone abruptly sounded from downstairs.

Sam picked up the phone hesitantly as he perched himself on the old sofa. “H-hello?” he spoke softly. He wasn’t used to people calling him, or talking to him, for that matter.

“Hey, Sam. It’s Bobby,” a familiar, gruff voice answered. Sam’s frown turned upward into a smile - he hadn’t heard from the man in a while, and it felt good to hear another voice. Summers in Kansas practically lasted forever, and Sam had no friends to spend them with, so for most of the time, he was stranded at home with his strict father.

“H-hey, um, how are you, Bobby?” Sam stood and began to pace around.

“Can't complain.” Bobby barked a short laugh. “You?”

“I-I’m fine, thanks. Dad told me that you were coming over to fix the air conditioner, right?”

“Yeah, he called me a while ago at his work. I’ve got all my supplies, so it should be an easy fix. But I wanted to let you know I might come a little earlier - John said you’d be up in the attic, and I thought maybe you’d want a helping hand.”

Sam shook his head, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. “Oh, no, I won’t be needing any help --”

“Don’t tell your father this, but he’s nothing short of a hoarder, Sam. If you were up there now, you’d see exactly what I mean - I don't expect you to able to get the entire place clean by the time he gets back from work. I’ll be around in a bit.”

“A-alright, I’ll unlock the door for you.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Of course. Bye.”

The line went dead. Sam walked over and placed the phone back on the holster before unlocking the front door for his uncle.

**_____**

Bobby let himself in about an hour later. Bear leapt from her place on Sam’s lap, and pounced onto the newcomer, barking loudly and pawing and sniffing, excited to see another person too. The man put down his tools, kneeled down to her level and scratched behind her ears with both hands before planting a kiss on the top of her fluffy head. “Real good to see ya, Bear,” he said. Bear lapped at his bearded face with affection.

Bobby looked up at Sam, who had been watching them, a small smile tugging his lips upward. The man stood up and gave Sam a hug, to which Sam gladly returned it. Bobby smelled of coffee, gunpowder, and hardwood, Sam noted.

“Good _God_ , you’re gettin’ tall, boy. You gotta be taller than your old man now,” Bobby pulled back, giving Sam a once-over before grinning beneath his beard. Sam shrugged as a shy blush crept to his cheeks. He’d always been insecure about his height - he was teased for it in school.

“Whew!” Bobby took off his cap and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “It’s hot as hell in here! Surprised ya’ll ain’t died from heat stroke!”

“You said it,” Sam laughed. He could feel the sweat forming on his body already, and he dreaded to think of how the attic felt like.

“Now, show me this broken air conditioner before we work on the attic.”

“Um, yeah, it’s over here.”

**_____**

Despite the air being fixed (and that was a blessing), the attic was scorching - to the point it made Sam feel dizzy. Sam’s entire body had instantly broken into a harsh sweat as he climbed up the ladder, a grunting Bobby trailing close behind. He unlocked the latch of the door and pushed it open with a some force. A musty smell lifted into his nostrils, making his nose crinkle and his eyes burn. It was quite a sight, dusty boxes and crates crowded to the walls so high, they almost touched the ceiling.

“Balls,” Bobby murmured, along with a few more swears, to which Sam said nothing, but nodded merely in agreement.

**_____**

The very last box slid from Sam’s grasp and it fell to the floor with a thud, releasing a large cloud of brown dust that sent him into a coughing fit.

“You alright?” Bobby said, coming up behind him to pat him on the back.

Sam nodded through his coughs until he eventually stopped. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

“You want me to getcha some water?” Bobby offered.

“N-no, I’m good.”

After a while of cleaning, Sam’s eyes trailed over to a wooden chair pressed into a hot, sweaty corner. His weary body fought the urge to sit there and rest. But he had to remember that it was only a few minutes till noon.

“I’ll be back in a little bit, is that okay? I have to go pray.” Sam’s hands brushed at the cobwebs caught in the fabric of his shirt.

Bobby looked at him strangely before nodding in understanding. “Uh, sure. Take as long a time as you need, I’ll be working in ‘ere, of course.”

Sam nodded without a word. Sam climbed down the ladder and into the house, then to the quiet safety of his bedroom.

**_____**

_“...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”_

The twelfth bell toll of the church stopped, echoing into nothing.

Sam opened his eyes and unfolded his hands. He pushed up from his knees and leaned over with one knee perched atop his bed; he then pressed his lips the wooden cross that hung over his headboard, whilst he made the sign of the cross with his right hand.

**_____**

“Hand me a coupla’ those trash bags, will ya, Sam?” Bobby asked without looking up at him. He had been ripping apart the old, molded boxes he'd emptied, setting the contents from the insides in front of him. Sam nodded and did as he was told.

“Feel free to look through any of this stuff,” Bobby offered. “Might see sum’n you want.”

Sam settled himself as comfortably as he could on the hard floor, eyes scanning curiously at the objects. His fingers grazed over an old photo album bound in leather so aged that it practically fell apart at the touch. The only thing keeping it together was a thick piece of string threaded poorly along the spine of it, and finally tied into a rough, makeshift knot on the front cover. Sam picked the album up and turned it over and over in his large hands. He had to fumble for a few minutes with the string until he could finally open it.

The photos inside mostly consisted of John  - before Mary, and before Sam was even a thought _._ Sam had to look deep into the pictures to find his father - in one of them, he stood with several other boys, all of their arms draped around each other’s shoulders. Dirt smeared on their cheeks, messy hair, and bright, cheesy smiles - a fun gang of friends, Sam assumed.

As Sam flipped through more pages, his father grew older and more recognizable. Soon, Sam was amidst the photos of his father’s days in the Marines. They were all pretty weathered with age,  but Sam could still make out his father perfectly. He was still young, but taller, stronger, and more stubble on his chin. He stood next to a man that looked older than him, both of them in gray uniforms with bright medals contrasting against them. They held assault rifles over their shoulders, whilst their free arms were gently draped around each other.

Sam lifted the sheet protector and gently tugged on the picture until it came off the sticky page. He turned it over, reading in what had to be his father’s scrawl:

_Me & Bobby, ‘68. _

“Hey, Bobby?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Here’s a picture of you and Dad,” Sam said with a little smirk as he handed the photo to him. He stared at it for a long while before a grin lit up his wrinkled features, soon getting lost in his untrimmed beard.

“Your dad had joined our troop not too long before this was taken - maybe a few months? I had been in service for a couple years up to that point. He was a real guppy, I thought - not at all capable for the field. He'd been a real church boy, and some of the others didn’t like him because of it. Who could blame them? The things we saw - it would all would get so damn bad you’d actually wonder if there was ever a God up there in the first place.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed, but his lips didn't move. He knew to his fair knowledge that his father had been a Marine, but the man never spoke about it.

_Just like everything else._

Bobby continued on, “But he could shoot a gun like a professional…an assassin, just about. It was apart of him - like an eleventh finger, hell, an extra muscle, just in his blood. And I’ll never forget, he’d have the most lethal look in his eyes, every time his finger pulled that trigger...”

A lost look clouded in his eyes as he trailed off, and it seemed to Sam that he was basking in yet another memory. Sam let him, and continued to flip through the album.

The next few pages were strange.

The photos of an infant boy suddenly appeared, and Sam could easily tell they weren’t of him. However, Sam’s mother had appeared as well - young, lovely, and beautiful - as she held the swaddled baby close to her in the crook of her arm.

The photo across from that one was the infant with John. They were both asleep, with John lying down and the baby sprawled on his chest. The baby’s beautifully dark eyelashes fanned about his plump cheeks, and they looked terrifyingly similar to his father’s.

Sam frowned.

Another photo was of the baby, by himself, staring innocently into the camera. He noticed that the baby owned the most alluring green eyes he’d ever seen, adorned with golden specks that glistened from the glare - Sam was practically mesmerized for a minute. He notice the freckles beginning their dusting across the infant boy’s nose, each of them lovely, like cinnamon.

Sam turned the page, urgent to find more photos of this boy, but they were blank, and that made Sam all the more wanting to find out more about the mysterious child.

“Um, Bobby?” Sam spoke up, tilting his head.

Bobby hummed as his eyes shifted to Sam. He took a few sips from his beer then lifted his cap, wiping the sweat long ago trickling from his forehead.

“Do you know who this is?” Sam attempted to keep his trembling voice calm; he flipped back to the page and tugged the picture out from underneath the protective sheet and held it up for Bobby to see.

“That’s --” Bobby stopped abruptly, his muddy green eyes widening a bit in realization. He shifted uncomfortably when he said, “I-I don’t know.”

Sam frowned. He didn’t like secrets - his father already kept more than enough from him. “Bobby, who is it?” He pressed.

“I told you, boy, I don’t know.”  The man’s gruff tone was irritated. “Maybe he’s a cousin of yours.”

Sam knew that wasn’t true. He opened his mouth to argue, but instead snapped it shut. Bobby was a closed book and nothing else - Sam knew for a fact he wouldn’t budge. He sniffed in the muggy air, frustrated and confused.

He turned the photo over, and one word was written in a scrawled cursive:

_Dean._

**_____**

Afternoon turned into evening, and just like that, another day had finished. After their short break Sam and Bobby had managed to pick up the attic, for they cleared away most of the boxes and stacked only a few against the wall (most of them were photo albums, old gear John kept from his days at war, etc.). Sam even had taken the broom from the kitchen pantry and swept away the offending cobwebs and dust from the corners and the high beams above. Bobby was currently ready to head back home around six o’clock, but he had some words to give to Sam.

“I’m, uh, sorry about fussin’ with ya earlier; it’s just, I think you need to speak to your father about it. I’m certainly not in your life enough to take that privilege,”  he mumbled.

Sam’s eyes widened at such words, and he shook his head frantically, “Bobby, that’s not true. Even if it was, that isn’t your fault.”

Bobby shrugged, eyes avoiding Sam’s.

“Honestly,” Sam continued on, “I doubt that Dad’s gonna budge, either.”

“You have to work him up to it,” Bobby insisted. “Don’t just attack him with questions. He’ll shut down on you that way. And you know this as well as me - hat man has always kept secrets. I’ve been friends with him for thirty years and more, and yet, I still feel like he’s a stranger.”

Sam tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed. He couldn’t help but agree.

“I better head home,” Bobby then said, fishing into his pocket for his keys. “ ‘S real good to see you again Sam, and remember what I said.”

Sam hugged him before watching him depart. The man slid into his pick-up truck and drove off, and Sam didn’t shut the door until the worn bumper was completely out of sight.

Sam was lonely again, but it didn’t matter at the moment. He pressed into the kitchen to prepare dinner - he had about an hour before John would arrive home.

Bear stood up from her position on the kitchen floor and stretched her legs. She was then at Sam’s heels, yipping impatiently for her food. He eventually fed her, after preparing the baked chicken, rice and mixed vegetables he’d planned.

“I’m sorry I had you wait so long, girl,” he said as he cupped her muzzle, planting a kiss on top of it. Bear let out a soft growl in response, but immediately went back to munching on her food.

Sam set out the tableware needed for the dinner. The smell of the chicken permeated throughout the kitchen, and as a result, his mouth watered, and his stomach rumbled.

Sam could hardly hear the far-away sound of the front door’s locks turning. As the anxiety rose in his chest, he walked into the living room to greet John.

“Hey, Dad,” said Sam, a feigned smile on his lips. “Dinner’s ready on the table.”

**_____**

John had been eating his second helping of rice when Sam finally had the courage to speak. “I went through some photo albums while cleaning up the attic today - don’t worry, I didn’t throw any of them away. I also kept the box of your Marine gear.”

John’s blank eyes focused on Sam. “Before we go to Church on Sunday, I’m cutting that hair. It’s getting too long.”

Sam looked down at his fidgeting hands, lip sliding in between his teeth before murmuring, “Yes, sir.”

The silence that loomed over for a few moments had been so chilling, it almost made Sam shiver. He looked at the food on his plate he prepared - cold and completely untouched.

John finished his plate, wiping his mouth on the paper towel in his lap. He peered at Sam’s plate, and his eyes then lifted to meet his son’s.

Sam asked with a strained voice, “Can I ask you something, Dad?”

“Eat, Sam.”

“Da--”

“I said eat, Sam. You need to be a strong, healthy young man. Eat the food that God has blessed you with.”

Sam tensed at his father’s voice, but, like an obedient child, he picked up his fork and ate until all of the food is gone. He could feel it sitting stubbornly in his stomach.

“M-may I ask you now?” Sam wiped his mouth with a paper towel before balling it up in his shaking hands.

“Yes, Sam.” John crossed his arms, deep voice quiet with weariness. “What is it?”

Sam took a deep breath and looked down at his lap. “Who’s...Dean?”

John was silent, to which Sam lifted his head to him. For a second, Sam didn’t think his father heard him, but then he noticed John’s eyes flashing an expression between anger and confusion. Sam’s stomach lurched forward a bit, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“None of your concern, Sam.”

“I saw him in the photo album, with you and…Mom.”

John’s light brown eyes then darkened, the glare so strong Sam could feel it burning holes into his own body. “Sam, that’s enough.”

“But Dad--”

“I said that’s enough, Sam. I should’ve never allowed you in that attic. Now, wash these dishes and go straight to your room.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Sam burst out unexpectedly. It was on a rare occasion that Sam truly showed any anger. “You won’t even tell me about my own mother, let alone this _‘Dean’_? What… w-what are you so afraid of? Why can’t you just --”

“Samuel!” John hit his fist on the table so hard it rattled the tableware. Sam shrunk back in his seat, falling silent - he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the a bit frightened. “When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it! And I don’t want to have this talk with you again, or there _will_ be consequences!” John spoke with a tone so threatening it made Sam want to crawl into his bed and never see the light of day again.

“I… I-I’m sorry,” Sam finally spoke, voice hoarse and cracked. Tears lapped at the corners of his eyes, making his vision a bit blurry, and he could hardly muster the energy to hold them back.

John left the kitchen without a word, leaving Sam all alone.

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so many kudos and comments giving me such positive feedback, I FINALLY posted another chapter. Thank you all so much for the support! This one's a long one! (Sorry for the weird spacing)

A week had passed.

Sam had hardly spoken a word to his father. Sam thought on more than one occasion to call Bobby to tell him his plan had failed, but instead, he just dealt with the silence; a silence that loomed over the house, so incredibly deafening. Sam even pulled out his hearing aids, turned them off and carefully placed them in his nightstand drawer. He didn’t have a use for them.

Sam tried to busy himself with made-up chores whilst John was at work; sweeping, vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing any surface he could - he even gave Bear a bath outside with a bucket of her special soap, a sponge, and a hose. He dried her with an old towel, and brushed her fur until it went soft, and it glimmered beautifully under the rays of the sun.

When John arrived home, Sam would have dinner prepared, whatever it may have been, they would both sit down, bless the food, and eat silently - still, not a word was spoken. Sam could hardly even look at his stranger of a father - he felt too betrayed, too depressed, too angry.

Sam got on his knees and prayed every night for it to go away. He prayed to his God that he would soon understand what everything meant. He prayed that his father would talk to him again - that they could be better than they were.

It was late one night, and John had turned in wordlessly. Sam grabbed his night clothes and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He turned the squeaky knobs until the water reached its preferred temperature, and ran a bath. He undressed from his sweaty clothes and slipped in. The tub was of course, not long enough for his lankiness, but Sam managed to get into a comfortable enough position for the time being. His hands rested on either side of the tub, water dripping from his fingertips to the tile.

The water was tepid, but it relaxed the knots in his body from hunching over to scrub the floors in the kitchen. He began sank as far as he could till the water engulfed his face and hair, and closed his eyes. Only two minutes later did he resurface, eyes and nose burning a little and lungs pulling in needed air.

_ Such a mundane life needs a bit of a rush _ , Sam decided.

 

—

 

With air conditioner running again, Sam could sleep comfortably. It was currently midnight, and Sam was in a slumber on his back, arms crossed daintily over his stomach. Bear rested as a pool of heat at Sam’s toes, which he found comforting.

Sam found himself sitting on a tiled floor, blinking alarmingly at his surroundings. The hallway was small, drafty, and the faint smell of bleach permeated the air, making his nose wrinkle. He adjusted his eyes to look further. Thin, golden rays of sun filtered through the rain-streaked windows and onto the bright blue school lockers. Sam could also hear the distant sound of Mr. Coleman, ranting on and on about corrupted religions of the past.

Sam rolled his eyes.  _ Of course, _ he thought,  _ I’m in school. _

 

As Sam began to walk toward his teacher’s voice, the scene then changed.

 

Half of his body was now submerged in cool, blue water.

 

The school’s swimming pool.

 

Sam was hardly worried about drowning at all – he could swim fine, good enough to join the swim team. He'd worked up the courage once to ask his father –  big mistake.

 

_ "So you can be naked and sinful with a bunch of boys? I did not raise you to want such a thing.” _

 

_ “It's swimming, Dad,” Sam murmured quietly, afraid to anger his father. “I can't wear clothes. And I  won't be naked. I'll wear swim trunks, like everybody else.” _

 

_ “The answer is no.” _

 

_ “But aren't you always talking about-” _

 

_ “Samuel!” _

 

Sam, more than confused, was entirely stripped in the water, clothes nowhere to be found. Not a soul was present, as the silence was so deafening a ring erupted deep in his eardrum, along with a short gargle. Sam, out of instinct, lifted up a hand to his ear, only to find that his hearing aid was gone. 

  
  


“What?” he murmured aloud, voice echoing across the tile surrounding the pool. 

 

The water, he noticed, felt lukewarm as it enveloped his middle and then downward. Strangely, it almost comforted him. He hardly felt any guilt for disobeying his father, therefore ensuring him that he was in fact in a dream. He then decided to appreciate the simple but bizarre moment for himself, as he would never have it in reality. 

 

He swam slowly to the deeper end of the pool, breaststroke after breaststroke, back and forth a few times. As he drew closer to the ending wall at last to breathe, he suddenly felt a wet, burning sensation on the back of his neck.

 

“Ah!” He yelped, a hand flying to the back of his neck before turning around swiftly. To his surprise, there was nothing behind him. He was alone in the water, feet in a consistent motion to keep him afloat. “Who’s there?”

 

“Find me, Sammy. Find me…” 

 

Sam braced himself against the edge of the tiled wall, shivering violently. “Who’s there?!”

 

“Please find me, Sammy. I’m so alone…” the voice whispered again in a low and desperate garble; cold, moist lips brushed against Sam’s ear.

 

“Ahh!” He scrambled in an attempt to climb the wall and escape the pool, but a gray, calloused hand suddenly emerged from the water and latched onto his ankle, tugging him downward. 

 

“...so alone.” The voice continued. “He threw me away…”

 

“Leave me alone! Please -”

 

“HE LEFT ME TO DROWN! THAT SON OF A BITCH LEFT ME! HE LEFT ME!”

 

Sam’s eyes flew open and he sat abruptly, accidently kicking Bear in the motion. She woke up with a whimper and a huff, soon crawling upward to Sam’s shaking  body. She whined quietly, and nuzzled at his face with a cool snout as an attempt to calm him. 

 

It was an hour before he could settle back down in bed. A loyal Bear crawled up next to him, to which he instinctively curled into her warmth. He closed his eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep. 

 

—

 

Church was the next day. John woke Sam for the first time in years, only to usher him quickly into the bathroom to cut his hair. 

 

Sam watched his brown locks fall into the sink, and noticed that they’d taken upon a lighter shade of bronze since the summer began. His father snipped at his bangs wordlessly with a pair of silver scissors, cutting to his satisfaction. Sam then peered up at his own reflection, heavy-lidded hazel eyes still riddled with sleep. 

 

The sharp snips draw closer to his neck, and Sam could feel the cold metal against his scalp, like a sleek serpent slithering up his spine. 

 

“What is this?” 

 

Sam’s blood ran cold at the thought of the tongue swiping about his neck, hot like an iron, but he kept his composure. “What do you mean?” Sam tilted his head, forcing his face into confusion, eyes peering up at his widowed father. John’s aged face was ashen.

 

“You will go to confession today,” John stated firmly. 

 

“Yes sir,” Sam replied, not mentally prepared to argue with his father in the wee hours of the morning. 

 

Sam was out the front door with his father only a few steps behind. The sunlight reflected beautifully from the sleek black paint of the Impala. Even crafted in the 1960s, it still shone with youth.  

 

—

 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned; this is my third confession of the month,” Sam spoke reverently to Father Michael, who sat across from him, 

 

“I had an argument with my father because I wanted to find out more about my mother. She passed away when I was still a toddler. I was selfish, and didn't consider how sensitive my father would be, and for that, I'm sorry.”

 

“Samuel, I see nothing to apologize for. But all I ask of you is patience of your father. He is suffering inside, and he needs time.”

 

“Yes, Father, thank you.”

 

—

 

Sam was in his bed once he came back from church, after he folded his nice shirt and khaki pants and put them away in the closet. He’d cleaned every part of the house, and anyways, Sunday was a day of rest.

 

Meanwhile, John was in the attic, sorting through the trunk for the picture.

 

The picture of  _ Dean. _

 

He found the box with the old, worn album, and tore the picture from the plastic, not daring to look at any photo of the damned woman that once was his wife.

 

He stared at the photo for what seemed like hours, until he heard a creak in the wood. 


End file.
